


The Broken King

by gracediamondsfear



Category: American Gods (TV)
Genre: Before the show, F/M, First Time, Fluffy Smut, Non-Canonical, Oral Sex, just for her, not for him, smutty fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-19 03:37:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11304882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracediamondsfear/pseuds/gracediamondsfear
Summary: Eir is the Norse goddess of healing and medicine and one of the Valkyries, carrying the chosen dead to Valhalla.She also owns a healing Salon and Spa with a secret back door and when Sweeney has gotten into a particularly grisly fight, he knows where he goes to get stitched up quick.





	1. Chapter 1

Cam hauled his huge right arm back and knocked Sweeney sideways, sending him stumbling over a barstool and slamming his head against the hardwood bar, falling to the floor in a lump of sweat and blood and curses. He tested his jaw, knocking it back into alignment with his own fist. Luck, as always, was on his side, but sometimes brute force has a way of battling through and kicking luck into the corner. Darkness and little shooting star trails sparked at the edges of Sweeney's vision when he got up to resume the fight, holding his fists up even as a drop of blood fell from his eyelash. Cam laughed and raised his thick, muscled leg, kicking him in the chest hard enough to leave a crisp, muddy boot mark on his white t-shirt. As the bar silenced around them, looking at the usually towering red haired devil crumpled on the floor, Cam made his way across the floor and stood over Sweeney, reaching across to grab his shot of whiskey and knock it back in one gulp.

“Hand it over, ya’ feckin’ tit,” Cam said. His voice was even, but low and determined. He wasn't even out of breath. No one in the bar moved, shocked at seeing their resident blowhard reduced to a simpering pup. He didn’t get up to fight back, didn’t trade insults with the dark eyed, tattooed stranger that had stopped in only half an hour earlier. This was an errand the leprechaun regretted taking on. Still, he knew when he’d been beaten and produced the small silver dagger from his palm in what looked like an amazing feat of sleight of hand, sliding it across the floor where it came to a stop beneath Camulus’ boot. “Stick to yer coins you twat, pickpocketing is below ye.”

He kicked the front door open even though it was unlocked and disappeared into the darkness, leaving Sweeney behind feeling broken and small and almost startlingly sober.

********

She heard him clomping up the stairs long before anyone else. He had a way of announcing himself in her blood, on her scalp. He turned a sunny day into a hurricane…every time, but she was someone who loved watching the storms. She shook her head and laughed to herself. What would the story be this time? The excuse? The bargain?

“Erie! Erie darlin’ I need your help.”

Eir sat at a manicure table finishing off a gel nail when he threw the door open, yelling into the crowded front room. As usual he looked vastly out of place in the all white and steel blue day spa, but things like that didn’t bother him. The woman Eir was working on couldn’t stop staring at the towering redhead standing in the doorway, right eye swollen shut, knuckles bleeding, lip split, the sides of his head newly shaved and the fiery locks standing on end, sparking off in all directions.

“Wait your turn Sweeney. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

 

The young woman behind the front desk smiled at him, gesturing towards a chair in the waiting area.

“What do you need help with sweetheart? Maybe someone else could give you a hand?”

Eir snorted to herself watching her younger sister work her newly masterd feminine wiles on the Leprechaun with a stone cold heart. He’d kick her down the back stairs as soon as look at her, but she would never understand that. She tried to sweet talk anyone who could offer a little excitement.

“No thanks love,” he said, throwing the wool cap he'd been carrying onto the glass top coffee table and sitting down. “I need your sister’s magic touch.”

“What kind of trouble you get into this time, Buile?” Eir asked, putting the final top coat on her client’s left hand.

“Someone I know had trouble keeping his mouth shut, so I decided to assist.” He put his muddy boots on the table and earned a scolding from Bylgia who'd come out from the spa office to see what all the commotion was about.

“Get your fu--- get your boots off the table, you ass,” she said, slapping the back of his head. “This isn’t your own private brothel.”

 

Eir jumped in her seat at the sound of the word, her cheeks flushing red, but when she looked up at Sweeney he barely registered a raised eyebrow. It had gone right over his head. The truth was, there was nothing between Eir and the Mad King. She was his nurse is all, everyone’s nurse, and what some perceived as romantic flirting was just a good bedside manner. Her patients came to her in need of a little tenderness and sweet talk, a gentle touch to ease their pain. It just so happened that Sweeney needed more medical attention than most. That’s all it would ever be, whether that's what she wanted or not.

She smiled and checked out her last client, walking her to the door, pocketing the generous tip.

“Come on Red,” she said, grabbing one of his ubiquitous coins from the air when he flipped it off his thumb and forefinger. “We’ll get you patched up.”

He’d been there a thousand times and so she actually followed him through the salon to the back room and slipped in front of him only when they got to the tall door, shiny with black lacquer and a wrought iron handle that looked like an old bone. She took off her white salon lab coat and pulled a gold key from a pocket in her dress. Eir ushered him into the narrow, dusky hallway that lead to a dark length of stone steps, winding and twisting, lit only by oil lamps; a direct contrast from the bright white and sunshiny storefront they’d just been in. Hanging from the ceiling were long wrought iron cages holding inky black ravens that cawed and flapped their wings at Sweeney, their insults earning themselves a flip of his middle finger.

“Quit flipping my birds the bird, sweetheart. Haven’t you ever heard that you catch more flies with honey?” She said, walking down, down, down into the darkness. The ceilings became damp rock, short stalactites dripping mineral water on their heads. The stairs turned from slabs to cut rock, the air thick and humid.

"Some of us don't care to attract flies."

He said nothing more, mesmerized by Eir’s bronzed hair that tumbled over her shoulders and down her back, a thick braid here and there held back with a tiny bundle of dried flowers. Her white gown was gauzy, her gold, sunkissed skin shadowy under its thin layers.

“Someday,” she said, holding her arm out to welcome him into the baths, “you’ll learn that there’s more to life than fighting.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Someday,” she said, holding her arm out to welcome him into the baths, “you’ll learn that there’s more to life than fighting.”

“Sure there is, darling, but you can’t drink all the time,” he said, sauntering past her, a toothpick flicking between his teeth.

“Get in the water,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’ll fix something up for you.”

The baths were deep, naturally hewn from the cave floor, the edges rounded smooth from years of use. Mineral rich steam billowed up around the oil lamps that hung from the ceiling casting an ethereal glow throughout the cavern. In the old days Eir sat on the Healing Hill with her sisters and the baths were out in the open, the whole process of administering medicine was a family affair with dozens of hands and as many as ten patients at a time. But now the need for a healing goddess was fading as the belief in the magic of nature waned. Now there were only a few special people here and there who knew to come to the spa carved into the mountain and to ask for Eir’s services.

As she stepped off to the side to pull herbs and flowers from her shelf of amber jars and clay pots, he stripped out of his sweaty, bloody clothes and heavy leather boots. He hissed in pain as the water seeped into his wounds and wrapped around taking hold of his aching joints, but soon the warmth sunk deep into his bones and he sighed, his muscles relaxing, loosening. It almost felt as if his legs were growing longer, his arms dangling like limp willow branches.

“You’re a miracle worker Eirie, I already feel like a million bucks.”

Her laugh echoed off the wet stone walls and she stepped into the bath, her dress billowing around her, a dark wooden bowl in her hands filled with crushed and fragrant herbs and a hill of coarse white salt. His eyes were riveted to her plump and rosy lips as she muttered strange phrases and verses under her breath in some ancient Nordic language, scattering the mixture through her slim fingers and swirling it into the water. The scent was musky and sharp, making his eyelids heavy while the bruises on his ribs stopped throbbing, their dark purple and red color fading to pink. A groan escaped his lips that made her cheeks hot. She could feel him watching her as she went through her rituals, calling upon the universe to guide her hands, her words. As if in answer a single drop of water dripped from the stalactite above them onto the crown of her head. He rested his head on the side of the bath and she glided through the water to his side, pulling up the edge of her gown and cleaning the dried blood from the corner of his split lip and the jagged lightning bolt of a cut above his right eye. It stained the fabric pink and she wrung it dry before dabbing at him again, blowing a stream of air across his forehead. He opened his eyes and tipped his face up to catch her gaze.

“You and your sisters. They call you the nine maidens, eh?” His words were warm puffs of air on her lips and she nodded, holding her hand over the wound until it slowly closed, the angry, swollen skin around it tightening and cooling, returning to its healthy, ruddy hue. “That means you ain’t ever…”

“Sweeney…” she stopped him by dabbing the corners of his lips again, but as she did she could feel his hand running up the side of her leg, beneath the billowing fabric of her skirt.

“I’m just curious because people like you and I, we’ve been around for a while and that’s a long time to go without…”

“I am not talking to you about this…” she said, but her voice had no strength behind it, the words coming out in a whisper. It was almost as if she were trying to convince herself because there was no way he was buying it.

The truth was that for most of her sisters lives, the title of maiden was strictly honorary but for Eir it was still the case. She was “a maiden” and happy to be so as she felt it kept her focus on matters of health and wellness. And yet, lately, every time she saw Sweeney, every time he wandered through her door smelling of iron and stale whiskey she found herself nearly paralyzed by the feeling deep in her belly, the heavy, dense heat the built and throbbed between her legs when he leaned in and whispered in her ear, _“I need your help Eirie.”_ She didn't feel those things when she was helping anyone else. _  
_

Unable to think of a clever way to turn the conversation into something funny or innocent she stepped back and filled her cupped hands with water, letting it pour through over her head. And though her eyes were closed in concentration she could feel him looking at her, watching the tiny rivulets of water twisting their way down her throat and between her breasts. The trails they left burned like fire when she imagined him staring at her, touching the water spots with his fingertips, his tongue.

Beneath the surface of the water his leg moved to rest between both of hers and he reached out to hold her hips, pulling her forward to sit on his lap.

“Swee---“

“Shhhh pretty girl, I’m just helpin’ ya keep yer balance.” His smile was knowing and crooked, his usual wild, frantic eyes heavy lidded and dark. Although she was still a virgin, she knew what lust looked like. “Ye seem a little wobbly.”

As if hearing her thoughts, he reached out one finger and traced the line of a drop of water as it fell from her earlobe, down the bone of her jaw and to the hollow of her throat.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, not backing away, but not leaning any closer. Her suspicion was that he was teasing her, ready to throw back his head and laugh when she finally asked him to kiss her, just once, so she could breathe normally again, so she could get the thought of it out of her head, wondering what it would taste like, whether the feeling would stick with her.

In truth he was doing it because although he was ageless and mythical and a man of known superior luck, he was not immortal nor was he a god, and after this many hundred years, he’d grown tired of pushing his luck, and licking his wounds and crossing lines that others had drawn in the sand just for the hell of it, just to see what it would take to send him into the abyss. In truth it was because he knew his time and his luck were both running out. The One Eyed bastard knew that he owed a battle, not to mention several favors, and the ravens had come back to him with a task he had no desire to carry out. Cold blooded murder of a woman who certainly didn’t deserve it. And yet it would be the catalyst, Odin told him, it was the act that would start all of these wheels turning, and Sweeney would be at the center of it, paying his dues. In truth it was because he wasn’t sure when he’d be able to see Eir again, and he couldn’t tell her why.

“Because I always am tellin’ ye you’re beautiful but I never do anything about it.”

He nudged his knee upwards and she gasped, resting her hands on his broad shoulders to catch herself. The feeling was electric, but warm and rippling like a pebble thrown into a pond. And before she could protest his trickery he leaned forward and closed his mouth over hers, sucking her bottom lip between his teeth, his strong hand holding tight to the back of her neck. She tried to pull away but he held firm, kissing her softly, but with a depth and passion that she hadn’t expected from a maniac like him. His warm tongue slipped over hers, coaxing it to stroke and twist like his. When she followed his cues he groaned from deep in his belly, the low growl vibrating between their open mouths. She knew this was how lovers kissed, nothing at all like the chaste kisses of welcome or goodbye, the pecks on the lips that formality called for. This kiss, this dance of tongues could be felt like swallowing fire, a heat that shot from her mouth to that spot between her legs where his knee was pressing upward.

Sweeney’s fingertips played over her wet skin, then to her shoulder, pushing the fabric of her dress down her arm, exposing her breast, the tight rosy bud of her nipple exposed to the cool cave air. Her cheeks and chest flushed red as she watched him bend down to kiss it, to suck the nipple into his mouth, flicking at it with his tongue. She gasped again in surprise, sinking her fingers into his thick, red hair and holding him tight to her chest. The feeling, the combination of feelings he was raising, the electricity that scorched through her everywhere he touched was becoming too much. But he held tighter, his hands tearing at her gown, his mouth covering her in kisses, all the while the hard shaft of his erection pressing against her belly, trapped between their bodies, waiting to enter her.

“Do you want more, Eirie?” He asked, pushing the damp strands of her hair from her face, running his thick calloused thumb over her plump bottom lip. “I would love to give you more.” He slipped his hand beneath the surface of the water and began stroking himself, slowly, his knuckles, once bruised and bloody, brushing against her stomach with each movement. "Tell me I could taste you, I could kiss you everywhere," he said, the heavy silver ring on his pinky brushing between her legs. "Tell me I could leave my mark on you."

Never before had she found herself speechless, unable to answer back with a crooked smile and a wink. Never before had she been so quickly thrown off balance, so unsure and yet knowing exactly what her answer was. She leaned forward to kiss him again, to again feel his tongue searching for hers, his breath pouring into her lungs; and with new found courage she covered his hand with her own, helping him to harden his own cock.

“Yes,” she said, bending down to kiss the rough, damp hair on his chest. “Yes, I want you to give me more.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> let the smut begin.

“Yes,” she said, bending down to kiss the rough, damp hair on his chest. “Yes, I want you to give me more.”

Sweeney gently pushed her off of his lap and stood, his cock long and thick, standing proud. The steam from the bath curled off of his skin, water dripping from his fingertips as he looked down at her, the hair on his chest glistening with drops that looked like diamonds. For the first time she saw him as the warrior he once was, his whole body electric, on edge, his eyes fiery, staring down at her in the water. He held a hand out and pulled her up. The torn gown fell from her hips and she stepped out, letting him guide her to sit on the rocky edge.

“Stay,” he said, his smile dark and mischievous. 

Eir sat with her hands folded in her lap, watching the naked man disappear into her supply room. What was this strange feeling growing in her belly, this feeling of fear and anticipation, wondering what he would do, what it would feel like? Would he draw out the torture, making her beg? Or would he pounce, laying her out flat, driving in deep without a word? She couldn’t wait another second and yet she didn’t want the mystery to end. Every scenario she imagined made the tiny muscles between her legs twitch and pulse with need. Still alone, she reached down to touch the folds of skin and found them warm, slick with arousal, the petals of her core opening easily as her fingers slipped between, back and forth. She closed her eyes, pressing in deeper, the tip of her finger brushing over the tight bundle of nerves at the heart of it all, sending a shiver through her limbs. The low groan from deep in his throat shocked her back into the moment. Her eyes flew open and she looked up at him staring, his head tipped to the side, his cheeks flushed red as he licked at his bottom lip.

“By all means, little kitten, keep on going. I’ve never seen something so beautiful,” he said, stroking himself as he looked at her open legs. “Although, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t imagined it a thousand times.”

She sat up straighter, pulling her hand out from between her legs, feeling ashamed, snapping her thighs together. And yet her heart was racing, the heat still building. He stood over her, his cock so close, a jewel of wetness at the tip of it.

“You’ve…thought of me like that…before?” She asked, suddenly feeling far younger and much more shy than she’d ever been around him. Surely a man of Sweeney’s stature had been with a thousand woman in a million different ways. It was hard to believe she was worth…imagining. He ran one of his heavy hands through her hair, tipping her head back and bending down to kiss her once more. Then he shook his head with a smile and picked up the stack of thick white towels he’d brought from the supply room. She watched as he unfolded them and lay them out, three deep, on the rocks, two more folded up to serve as a pillow. When he was finished preparing the space he walked over and placed a hand on the top of her head, stroking her like a beloved pet. 

“Lay down love, let me show you what I’ve imagined.”

Mesmerized by how he moved, prowling around the bath like a lion, his legs long and muscular, his cock impossibly long and heavy, tempting her like a serpent, she silently moved to the makeshift bed of towels and lay on her back, her legs out straight in front of her, closed and chaste as if waiting for a doctor’s examination, hands folded over her chest. He dunked the wooden bowl into the bath and poured it over her naked body, slowly trickling the water between her breasts, over her taut stomach, her navel, finally letting the last drops fall onto the thatch of golden hair between her legs. She gasped as it ran down between the slick, closed lips of her pussy, mingling with her own warm wetness.

“Let me see,” he said, still standing over her, still cocking his head like a curious puppy dog. “Go on, open.”

When she didn’t move he knelt beside her, stroking her thighs and easing them apart. She watched breathlessly as he bent down, close enough that she could feel his breath on her, staring at her most intimate, heated core. Without a word he reached out and ran a single finger between the beautiful seashell pink folds.

“Oh….oh kitten, its like velvet.” 

She gasped as he brought the finger up to his lips and sucked it clean.

“What are you…” she sat up on her elbows as he pushed her legs further apart, bending her knees, then filling the bowl with warm water again.

“Shhhh,” he whispered, holding a finger to his lips. “You just lay there and be a good girl now.”

He sat back on his heels and let the warm water run between her spread thighs, over her swollen clit. The sensation nearly blinded her, her breath catching deep in her lungs, her muscles trembling. She fisted the towels in both of her hands, if only to steady herself, to keep from flying apart.

“Ahh there she is. Now she’s ready,” he said.

In fact he hadn’t realized until that moment how desperately he wanted to see her come, to see the look on her face of perfect agony, the flush across her chest, the way her cries would sound, his name on her lips. He wanted so badly to fuck her, to sink balls deep in to her wetness, stretching her, filling her, but first he wanted to watch, to see it clearly, to hear it echo off the walls. And so he bent forward and touched the tip of his tongue to her rosy lips, licking from bottom to top, swirling around the shining pink pearl. Her legs trembled, her back arched. The deeper he dipped, drinking up her cream, the faster her breath came, tiny mewling sounds of pleasure escaping with each exhale. His prick ached, his balls tight, but he wanted to give this to her first. So as he licked her he sunk two fingers into her tight entrance, hooking upwards to find that magical spot, to drive her closer to the edge. 

“Oh God. Oh Sweeney please.”

She gripped tight to his hair, grinding herself against his face, whining in desperation as the climax inched closer. He watched her as he worked, peeking over her mound at her face, tense with desperate concentration, eyes closed, brow furrowed. For just a moment he pulled away but continued pumping with his fingers.

“That’s it kitten, you can let go.”

He inched up her body, keeping his thick fingers inside her, pressing his chest to hers, closing his slick lips over her mouth, letting her taste her own juices on his tongue. Faster, faster his fingers thrust, feeling her walls pulse and clench, pulling him deeper.

“Come for me girl,” he whispered against her mouth, “let me hear it.”

And as soon as she heard him it hit, a white hot explosion rippling from deep inside, jolts of electric energy pulsing around his fingers, her body stiffening like a plucked string, her lungs frozen. She screamed out, holding tight to his back, pulling him down against her, bucking against his hand as she gasped for air.

“Sweeney…oh my god, my god. Thank you”

He propped himself up to look into her eyes, glassy and heavy lidded as she came back to earth, a contented smile beneath pink cheeks, her body hot and limp beneath his, still primed and tense, his cock hard as a diamond against her belly. He adjusted himself, moving to lay beside her, running his fingers up and down her skin, tickling the ladder of ribs running down her side. Once she could find her voice again she reached up to run a hand through his hair and over the stubble on his cheek, recalling how it felt scratching against her thigh. 

“…you didn’t…aren’t you going to…” she wasn’t sure how to ask if he was going to actually do it, actually enter her, or if she’d be able to handle it. But he didn’t make her find the words. Instead he smiled, kissing the center of her palm before guiding it down to circle his prick, her slim, pale fingers a stark contrast to the taut ruddy skin of his shaft.

“I am going to,” he said, kissing her shoulder. “I just wanted to make sure you were good and relaxed before I did.”


End file.
